I Hate The Ways

I hate the way you yell at me,
I hate when you make me cry.
I hate it when you look at me,
you make me want to die.

You tell me you’re ashamed of me,
and that you want me gone,
you tell me to let you be,
and that I am always wrong.

You wish that I will end my life,
and then you will do the same.
So why don’t you just take a knife,
and use me to blame.

You tell me if I don’t like it then I should move away,
don’t you think that if I could I would?
I think about it every day.

The day I turn eighteen,
is the day I run away,
And while I am gone,
I won’t have to listen to the hurtful things you say.

Don’t wonder where I am,
don’t think about me at all,
I am not going to write,
and I am not going to call.